40
POEMS BY CLARA A. MERRILL
It seems the cat, in hunting, had Caught more than she could master; Of course old pussy never guessed That it would cause disaster.
The mouse was in mischief, so old Puss Had caught him in the night; But the lady never paused to think Whether it was wrong or right. She knew 'twas a mouse—a horrid mouse, And there she stood, dismayed; What could she do, with no one near To whom to appeal for aid?
She stood for what seemed hours to her,— (Her weapon was the broom;) Waiting in vain for some one to come And take her from the room. At last she thought of a beautiful plan, And making good her aim; Jumped, and landed two yards the other side Of the animal's prostrate frame!
A short time thence her hubby came.— He saw the signs of storm; And to his brawny bosom close He drew her fainting form.
